Tapestry Of Tamar

by Reece, Colleen L.

  “I think that’s best.” Glad for the understanding woman, Tamar cast off her worries. “We’ll just go into the drawing room long enough for the children to receive the presents their parents left.” Mischief danced in her dark eyes. “I’m for thinking we’ll have a lot happier time on Christmas Eve with all of you.”

  The Christmas conspiracy securely glued the staff’s friendship with the new companion. Such whispering and planning—and not just on the servants’ part. Tamar helped the twins make gifts for every member of the staff—nothing that cost money, but carefully colored pictures from chubby fingers, pasted on cardboard with scraps of bright materials. She pretended blindness when Dora hastily covered a special picture she had been working on, and she acted as if she had no clue to why Donald asked what her favorite colors were. Out of her carefully guarded inheritance money she bought inexpensive pictures of the manger scene for the twins and servants. Cook had promised to bake a Christmas “birthday” cake in honor of the Christ child, and as part of the celebration, Tamar meant to tell the story of Jesus’ coming to earth.

  At last December twenty-fourth came, a heavenly blue and gold day with a crisp wind coming in off the bay. Tamar and the children had a good frolic in the garden after lunch and then the twins obediently trotted off for naps. “You’ll want to be all rested for tonight,” she told them. “Something nice is going to happen.”

  “What, Miss Joy?” At Tamar’s invitation, the twins had long since dropped “Darnell” from her name.

  “It’s a Christmas surprise.” She gently pushed Donald back onto the pillow and pulled a blanket over Dora. Downstairs, the drawing room with its formal tree and expensive toys stood closed. The servants’ dining room with a smaller, friendlier tree glowed with firelight, gaslight, and cheer. Popcorn and cranberries and bright paper ornaments hung from its spicy-smelling branches and tissue-wrapped packages awaited the eager clutch of small fingers.

  “Why, I’m almost happy,” Tamar murmured. “I wonder—is it because I’ve been busy working to make others happy?” The idea hovered like a winged moth while she smuggled her own carefully prepared gifts out of her room and downstairs. The camaraderie of the shirt-sleeved butler and aproned cook, the busy housekeeper and giggling maids welcomed her and warmed her heart, making her feel she had found a real home and an adopted family.

  six

  Soft tears dripped into Tamar’s lap and she hastily wiped them away, but not before Donald noticed.

  “Miss Joy, are you sad?” He crept close to her, all the wonder and excitement of the “Christmas surprise” eclipsed by worry.

  “No, I’m happy.” She hugged him and smiled.

  Dora chimed in, “I’m happy, too. This is the bestest Chris’mas in the whole world.” She patted the little mounds of gifts in her lap. “Cook made mittens for us just like yours.” She pointed to those on the floor beside Tamar and wiggled her red wool fingers.

  Tamar looked up from the low stool where she sat surrounded by evidence of the staff’s friendship. “I can never thank you enough.” She felt tears coming again and hesitated.

  “It’s you we should be thanking,” the cook said and held up the pictures the twins had made, then the one of the manger scene. “’Tis the happiest Christmas this house has known, and I’ve been here for many a day.” Heads nodded in agreement. “A shame, it is, to have it be over.”

  Tamar slowly rose and faltered, “I was going to tell the children the story of the first Christmas tomorrow, but—”

  “Tell it now,” Dora pleaded and clutched her skirts.

  The housekeeper fingered her picture of the Nativity. “I wouldn’t mind hearing it—not all of us will be going to church.” A wistful note in her voice was echoed by the look in some of the others’ faces.

  “Let’s sing some of the carols I’ve been teaching the twins,” Tamar said. Soon the room rang with the familiar melodies of “Joy to the World,” “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” and “Oh Come All Ye Faithful.” The butler thoughtfully turned down the gaslight and Tamar sent him a look of gratitude. Perhaps the dimmer light would hide her trembling hands. She had never before told anyone the story of the birth of Christ, but a quick prayer steadied her. She began by reading the beautiful story from the second chapter of Luke, remembering her mother’s voice from years gone by. The twins sat entranced, chins in hands, blue eyes wide. Someone cleared his throat, but for the most part, her listeners sat quietly.

  Now what? she frantically thought when she ended with the age-old cry of praise, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men.” Then into the little pool of silence came voices singing softly, “Silent night, holy night.” For a moment Tamar wondered if she were hearing things.

  “All is calm, all is bright.” The song grew louder.

  “It’s the carolers, miss.” The butler went to the window and threw it wide. Perfect harmony deepened the meaning of the familiar words; Tamar felt she might burst with the realization of what that first Christmas meant to a sinful world. A twin on each side of her, she strained her ears to catch the final, lovely chord. Then cries of, “Happy Christmas!” floated in the open window.

  “Happy Christmas to you,” those inside the mansion called. Lanterns waved and the little band of carolers moved on, leaving their words of hope and cheer glowing in Tamar’s heart like a luminous star.

  As usual, the cook took the lead. She surveyed the others, motioned to the children, and said, “Don’t you ever be forgetting whose birthday this is.” Enjoyment shone in every syllable. “Just to make sure, I’ve baked a cake, at Miss Joy’s suggestion.” The cake was four layers high, with a single candle in the middle of its gleaming white frosting. The twins oohed and aahed. Not until they had finished every delicious crumb did Tamar reluctantly say, “This has been wonderful, but it’s bedtime.” She ruefully looked at the disheveled table. “As soon as I put the children to bed, I’ll come down and help straighten up.”

  “Indeed you won’t,” the housekeeper retorted. “There are plenty of us to care for things below stairs. You’ve done enough.” Tamar gave in with another smile of appreciation and herded her excited charges upstairs. They took a long time to fall asleep, and when they did she slipped down to the servants’ dining room. Except for the tree, everything stood in its usual shining order, and the table had been laid for breakfast. A quick trip to the kitchen showed the same. With a light step, Tamar climbed the long staircase to her own room, again aware of the strange tug she had felt earlier.

  “God,” she prayed when she had disrobed and donned her long nightgown. “Thank You for bringing me here. But thank You most of all for the gift of your precious Son. I pray that You will help me teach Dora and Donald about Him. In Jesus’ name, amen.” She turned on her side, looked out the long window at the moonlit world, and added, “Please, God, help me keep the peace I feel tonight and someday help Carlos—and Lorraine—to know You.”

  Christmas Day sped by. Tamar eyed the expensive toys left by the Wilsons and remembered how she also had been given such things. Yet few gifts had touched her as deeply as the simple offerings from her fellow-workers. In honor of the holiday, she wore ribbon rosettes at her collar and let her red-gold hair hang free for the first time since she fled the O’Donnell mansion. The staff gasped at the change it made in her but wisely said nothing. If Miss Joy wished to disguise her beauty by keeping her curls in place and hidden, so be it. The butler stolidly served dinner, and by one o’clock all the servants were ready to depart.

  “I’m not happy about leaving you alone,” the housekeeper told Tamar. “If my mother weren’t old and expecting me, I wouldn’t go off and have you here just with the children.”

  Tamar patted her arm. “I’ll lock the doors if it makes you feel better,” she promised. “Besides, what could happen? If I need anything, there are plenty to help me.” She waved out the door
at the nearby mansion across the way. A full score of carriages stood in its curing drive.

  “Well, all right.” The older woman stepped outside. “I’ll be home by eight at the latest.”

  “Happy Christmas.” Tamar closed and locked the door, then gathered the children. “Shall we take some of your new toys to the nursery? It’s easier to play there.”

  “Yes, Miss Joy.” Donald and Dora willingly helped her. A little later, though, they tired of their new possessions and came to the low rocker where Tamar sat reading. The Wilson library had opened her eyes to the world of knowledge, and she devoured a variety of books in her free time.

  “Will you please tell us a story?” they pleaded.

  She moved to a larger rocker, one big enough to hold all three of them. “What would you like to hear?”

  “Tell us s’more about Baby Jesus,” Dora ordered, and Tamar’s heart leaped. In low, even tones, she repeated every story she could remember until the children’s eyelids drooped. “Time for your afternoon nap,” she told them gently.

  “If I’m going to tell them stories about Jesus, I need a Bible of my own,” she decided. “The one I’ve been reading from the Wilsons’ library is so large and heavy, it’s hard to hold.” Pleasant thoughts crept into her mind, and the huge Christmas dinner left her drowsy. She slipped to her room, removed her shoes, and lay down on the bed. Her last waking thought concerned her next free afternoon. Perhaps the children would enjoy going with her while she bought her Bible.

  The wintry darkness of late afternoon shadowed the walls when she awakened. Something is wrong. She lay rigid, alert, waiting for whatever had woken her to sound again. A quick spring from bed to the open door of the twins’ room showed nothing out of the ordinary. A clock chimed and she counted its strokes. Five, far too few to herald the return of any of the staff. Yet—she froze. A sound, the same sliding sound she realized must have disturbed her, came again, then the sound of heavy footsteps below.

  Fear gripped her throat. She automatically glanced out the window and noted in despair that the carriages lining the neighbors’ drive a few hours earlier had vanished. The closest mansion sat dark and inscrutable. No help there.

  “Standing here isn’t going to solve anything,” she whispered. “Get going, Tamar O’Donnell.” Flinging her sleep-tangled curls back, she looked about for a weapon, settled on a heavy poker, and noiselessly left her room, prepared to defend the children against the intruder.

  The great hall below the staircase lay in shadow. Tamar paused at the top and peered into the darkness. A tall and blacker shadow detached itself from the library entrance and stumbled into a piece of furniture. Tamar stifled a gasp, whispered a prayer, and glided down the stairs like a wisp of fog. The figure stood facing away from her. She lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper, hoping the intruder would take her for the butler, then jabbed the poker between the prowler’s shoulder blades.

  “Raise your hands and don’t move,” she hissed.

  “What the. . .” Two hands shot in the air.

  “Walk straight toward the door.” She prodded harder with her weapon, wondering what she would do if the unwelcome visitor refused. “And don’t speak.” From the intruder’s voice, she knew she had a man to deal with, none much larger than she. The element of uncertainty as to who she was and what dug into his back offered her and the children their only protection, frail as it might be.

  He preceded her in the direction she guided until she knew he had reached the door.

  “Unlock it and go.” She kept her voice in the same tone. Sensing his resistance, she again pressed on her weapon.

  He grunted, fumbled with the heavy key and lock, then swung the door wide and stepped outside. Tamar slammed the door behind him. Her knees felt more quivery than the cranberry jell she had eaten for Christmas dinner.

  A loud knock stiffened them. Mercy, was he trying to get back in? She felt the doorknob turn beneath her shaking fingers and for a moment couldn’t remember if she’d had the presence of mind to lock the door after she slammed it. She had and it held. But an angry voice demanded, “Let me in, you fool. Don’t you know who I am?”

  All Tamar knew was that she had never heard the voice before. “Go away or it will be the worse for you,” she ordered.

  Even the heavy door couldn’t drown his curses. “I’ll have you dismissed if you don’t open the door this minute.” Another thundering knock came.

  “God, what can I do?” she frantically prayed. This time she didn’t answer, just leaned against the door in fear, as if her pressing hands could lend the door strength.

  The pounding went on, interspersed with threats. Minutes or an eternity later, the sound of carriage wheels brought Tamar a wave of relief. Thank God, someone had come.

  “Why, Mr. Edgar, what are you doing here?” The housekeeper’s surprised question sounded muffled.

  “Why is this door locked? And where are my sister’s servants, off gallivanting while she’s gone? The lights aren’t even on. Where are Donald and Dora?”

  “Sound asleep in their beds, I’d hope, sir. Miss Joy probably didn’t hear you knock. She and the children had noon dinner so the rest of us could have a bit of extra time off. I got to worrying over them and came back early.”

  “She?”

  Tamar heard the disbelief in his voice and hastily unlocked the door and flung it wide. Before the two on the doorstep could come inside, she quickly turned up the gaslight, then blinked in its bright rays.

  “Oh, there you are, Miss Joy. Mr. Edgar here wasn’t expected and—”

  “Stop blathering, woman.” Edgar glared at Tamar, who stood speechless before him, red-gold hair hanging in confusion about her patrician face, dark eyes flashing. His expression changed and he swept her a glance from the crown of her beautiful head down her slender figure.

  She felt her face scorch and drew herself up. “In the future, I suggest that you enter your sister’s home by the front door,” she icily told him.

  The housekeeper looked bewildered. “Is there trouble here?”

  Tamar hid the poker behind her and said nothing.

  Edgar had the grace to mumble, “When no one came and I found the door locked, I raised a window and—I don’t have to answer to you, either of you.” He haughtily lifted his chin.

  “Miss Joy, where are you?” A call came from the nursery.

  “The noise has awakened the twins.” Tamar squared her shoulders and turned. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to them.” She mounted the stairs like a queen at her coronation.

  “That’s the children’s companion?”

  Tamar shivered with foreboding. Something in Edgar’s manner made her feel unclean. The housekeeper’s crisp retort did nothing to reassure her. “She’s not like the others, Mr. Edgar. Leave this one alone.”

  “You forget your place.” Frost hung on every word, and Tamar turned her head just enough to see the housekeeper scuttle away. Her heart sank. Last night and today she had felt the Wilson mansion close to Eden in its perfection. Edgar’s appearance cast a shadow across her newfound paradise.

  “I’ll just have to stay out of his way,” she determined and went to reassure the twins. After they were tidied for supper, the housekeeper came and tapped on her door furtively. “I was just thinking perhaps—with Mr. Edgar here and all—would you like me to bring a tray rather than foraging as you had planned?”

  “I would appreciate it very much,” Tamar told her.

  “It’s just for tonight. He never stays long and the other servants will be back soon and, oh dear, why did he have to come now? What actually happened?”

  Tamar quietly told her what had occurred.

  The housekeeper’s lips set in a grim line. “Miss Joy, I hope you don’t think I’m meddling, but if I were you, I would put my hair back up in its usual way
.” She flushed and started to withdraw, but Tamar laid a hand on her arm.

  “Thank you. I understand perfectly.”

  The tray contained enough party food and mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream to satisfy the twins. Upset as she felt, Tamar forced herself to eat for their sake. Then she curiously said, “Tell me about your uncle Edgar.”

  Dora shook her flaxen head. “He’s bad.”

  “Bad,” Donald echoed, a white cream ring around his mouth. “Daddy said if Uncle Edgar didn’t be good he couldn’t come here. Mummy cried.”

  Their companion’s need to know the worst overcame her distaste at pumping the children. “Why is he bad?”

  “We don’t know,” Dora admitted. “But before you came, I saw him kissing the other lady. Then she went away. A long time ago,” she added vaguely.

  Tamar felt her blood chill. In spite of her sheltered upbringing, she knew a bit of the world. If only Edgar hadn’t seen her with her hair down! Would today’s incident result in her having to leave? A pang filled her. Just when she had begun to find happiness. She hoped his anger at being ousted by a young woman with a poker would cool any ardor toward her he might possess. She had grown to love Dora and Donald and they had responded freely. Must a selfish young aristocrat spoil everything by forcing unwanted attentions on her?

  Her worst fears were realized a little later when Edgar barged into the nursery unannounced. “Well, hello, dear niece and nephew.” He produced packages from behind his back and bestowed them on the children. They showed little enthusiasm for the costly toys that duplicated what they already had.